Hooked Bait
by ohcomely23
Summary: A simple mission goes wrong when Neal finds himself thrown overboard and stuck in the murky lake, his anklet caught on something and not budging...
1. Chapter 1

Neal took a backwards step towards the deck of the boat, his hands gently raised in front of him as a show of submissiveness. He hoped to convey that he was no threat, but the white collar criminal waving the gun in his face seemed to have a different idea.

Neal was listening to the man, picking up on the main points he was spewing, while scoping out the surrounding lake and strategizing an exit plan. He took another step towards the deck. They were maybe 50 yards from the shore, and while Neal was no Olympic athlete, he was a good swimmer, and the deep green of the lake would obscure him from view. Neal was pretty sure he could hold his breath most of the way, or at least long enough for Peter and backup to arrive.

He'd said the safe sentence already, but just to be sure, he spoke again.

"Sure wish we could continue this conversation over drinks instead…"

"Shutup! Nick… Nick Holden… thinking you're so smart, so _cunning…_"

Neal mentally rolled his eyes again. The man was off on his tangent again. The man didn't seem especially imposing—he was thin and.. wiry would have to be the best word. A bundle of nerves. But Neal wasn't about to argue with the gun aimed in his direction, and he sure as hell wasn't going to risk it.

"FREEZE—FBI!"  
Neal saw Peter arrive just as he had time to register the blast of the gunman's weapon. Neal was quick, though, and dodged the shot- though he tripped over the edge of the boat and splashed into the water. He plummeted into the deep green water.

_

Peter clenched his teeth as he and Diana sprinted across the doc and onto a speedboat that was occupied by a young father and his son. A wave of his FBI badge had the two scrambling off as he and Diana raced to the boat in the middle of the ocean. The operation was supposed to be simple—Neal was to con his way as Nick Holden into fencing some of Jacob Wilson's stolen art for him. Being the paranoid man that Wilson was, he'd insisted they have their meeting in the middle of a lake so that no outside forces could interrupt.

Hearing Neal mutter something about there being "no need for guns" had catapulted him into action as he and Diana had sprung from the surveillance van, leaving Jones with the task of monitoring. Neal had just uttered the safe word when they'd arrived at the doc, and now that they were getting closer, he had said it again.

Peter and Diana arrived just in time to watch Neal step over the edge of the lake, narrowly avoiding the gun. Damn that kid, he was lucky. If it were anybody else..

Peter snapped himself back to attention. Diana was already on top of Wilson and cuffing him. Peter gave her a glance to see if she was good, but he didn't need to. Diana was tough—she could handle herself in any situation, usually even better than the senior agents.

He made his way over to the edge of the deck of the boat, prepared to hoist Neal up to the boat… but he wasn't there. _He should've floated up by now.._

Peter pushed the thought away as he nervously scanned the lake. Still no Neal.  
"Caffrey? Caffrey!"

_

The water was a bit cooler than he'd have liked, but it sure beat a bullet. And this was pretty much his plan anyhow. Neal felt his feet hit the ground (the water was maybe 30 feet deep), and he pushed his feet off the floor of the lake to go back to the top- no, he didn't. Neal couldn't see due to the murkiness of the water, but he was stuck. With fumbling fingers, he felt his left ankle- his anklet! His anklet was caught on something, probably an old anchor or something that had sunken long ago. Neal felt himself beginning to panic, but he tried to fight it. He fumbled oncemore with the stuck anklet, feeling himself grow a bit lightheaded.


	2. Chapter 2

_The key here is not to panic.  
_  
Rationally speaking, he knew he would be fine. He had to be.

Peter and Diana had seen him jump into the water, and after a few minutes of not resurfacing, they would realize he was stuck.

It had been at least a few minutes, right?

Or had it been twenty seconds?

Had it even been a minute?

Neal struggled, though it was futile. He was running out of energy, losing his momentum, and it was hard to work in the dark and against the exhaustion. His lungs were burning, and it was all he could do not to breathe in the murky lake water.

While Neal had never drowned before, he'd had a classmate who had drowned on a school trip once, when he was in fourth grade. Tommy Johnson. Tommy had been the class clown, and on a field trip to the beach, he'd rushed into the water. The teacher had tried to get him out, but it wasn't until his little body floated to the top of the water, face down, that they were able to scoop him out. His lungs had been full of ocean water.

_No, don't breathe in._

Neal struggled against the anklet, but with his body lurking forward, towards the elusive surface, it was hard to bend at the waist to work whatever it was that was stuck. A bit of water crept into his nostrils, and Neal jerked. _Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't breathe in._ He fought his instincts as much as he could.

He thought he heard a voice calling him, but he wasn't certain. He blinked slowly as he could feel himself fading. Peter?

Neal cursed mentally. It was growing harder to form rational thoughts, and he knew that he was on the verge of blacking out. Once he blacked out, his odds decreased dramatically. He gave another weak kick. _Peter, now….would….be…..a….fantastic….time…._  
Without thinking, he raised his hand and reached towards the surface, towards his life. He didn't notice the jelly bracelet (the one that June's granddaughter had given him, the one that Peter, Jones, and Diana had made fun of, the one that he'd forgotten to take off) fall off his hand and lazily rise to the surface.

Neal blinked slowly, swaying under the water. Grey tinged his vision. _Help….._


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was growing anxious. It had to have been at least a few minutes since Diana had tackled the criminal and since Neal had plunged over the water. It didn't make sense.

Peter scanned the water for any sign of Neal, but nothing. He shot a worried look towards Diana who nodded in return. Peter started to fret that maybe Neal had been shot after all as he shrugged out of his blazer. The urgency of the situation was a bit lost on him—until he saw the jelly bracelet trickle to the surface.

Peter's blood ran cold.  
_  
_Without any hesitation, he dove into the water towards the direction of the bracelet.  
"Neal! Neal!" he panted. He dove under the water, but it was murky and he couldn't see. Remembering that he had a waterproof penlight in his pants pocket (of all the silly things for Mozzie to give his wife as a gift and for El to have given to him as a joke….). He flicked on the switch and nearly gasped the water into his lungs. Neal's eyes were open in alarm as he scanned Peter's face. Peter gripped onto the younger man's arm and gave a tug- Neal was stuck on something.

Neal wilted and blinked slowly, and then motioned down towards his ankle, giving a weak tug. Alarmed, Peter shined the penlight down and fought the bile rising from his throat- _the anklet_- the god dammed anklet was killing him!

_Just hang on, Neal. I've got you.  
_  
Peter reached into his pocket for the anklet's key and put the penlight in his mouth to direct the beam of light. He struggled to unlock the anklet as Neal was still struggling weakly against him. Neal gave one more feeble jerk before stilling completely- _Oh god_- as Peter stole a look towards his partner, aiming the beam of light towards the CI's face. Neal's eyes were still wide, but the alarm was gone… the recognition was gone… the _life _was gone.

Peter's heart was pounding against his ribs. He tried to fumble with the key oncemore—only it was gone. When Neal had kicked against him, Peter had dropped the key and sent it somewhere onto the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter was running out of breath, seeing spots in his vision. He quickly rose towards the surface, filled his lungs, and dove back under. It took him a moment to find the spot where he'd left Neal- Neal, who still wasn't moving.

With the penlight in his teeth, he fumbled for the key. Panicking now, he gave another tug on Neal's leg.  
_Stay calm. Stay calm._  
Too late.  
Peter's heart was pounding in his ears, in his chest, and he was shaking with fear and anxiety. His muscles were tense as he feebly looked for the key in the sand below. _Dammit! Dammit!_

Another achingly slow minute passed, and Peter could oncemore see spots as he fought against his burning lungs. Another trip to the surface for air, precious air. He could hear Diana calling him, but his mind was on Neal alone. He dove back into the darkness.

Another frantic minute of searching… _The anklet is killing him. The anklet is killing him._

He finally felt the key in his clumsy hands and gripped onto it. He fumbled with the anklet's lock oncemore, tugging on the lock until it released the captive Neal from its deathlock.

Peter gripped his arm across Neal's chest and kicked ferociously towards the surface. Peter's lungs were about to burst, and Neal was all-too still. He pushed Neal up, up towards the surface, as his vision greyed out.

A half a moment later, Peter had made it to the surface, greedily inhaling. His eyes darted nervously towards his partner. Neal was facedown, bobbing in the water.

"DIANA!" he screamed, a raw desperation in his voice that Diana had never heard before. He swam towards Neal, angling the man's head up and away from the water.

Diana's heart sunk as she watched the young con man bob to the surface, face down. She couldn't breathe. "NEAL!" Her voice was a strangled cry.

She heard Peter call her name, but she was already over the boat and into the water. She'd cuffed Wilson to the boat the moment Peter had jumped overboard originally.

Diana was a fast swimmer, and she quickly made her way to her flailing boss and still partner.

"I've got him!" she yelled, pulling Neal towards the boat. Peter was panting behind her.

They made their way to the boat, and Peter held Neal as Diana hoisted herself onto the boat. She reached for Neal and hoisted him up, and then gave Peter a hand.

The two of them rolled Neal onto his back- his lips were a blue so vibrant that they rivaled his magnificent eyes- eyes that were staring up at nothing. _No, no, no, this is all wrong._

With a shaky hand, she felt for Neal's pulse—nothing.

Diana pinched his nose and gave him two quick breaths as Peter began chest compressions.  
They continued this twisted cycle for what felt like hours.

Growing lightheaded, Diana and Peter switched places, Peter breathing for Neal and Diana pumping blood through his still body.

Diana wasn't much of a crier, but even she was fighting back tears, her throat thick. _Come on, Caffrey._

Peter breathed for his friend, his eyes locked onto those pale blue eyes. _The anklet. The anklet did this._ Peter felt hot tears running down his face, but he was silent. Another breath. Another.

Still nothing.

"Boss-"

"Keep going" he choked out.

"Boss.."

"Dammit, I said keep going!"

It had been at least fifteen minutes since Neal had been tossed from the boat, fifteen minutes since oxygen had been to his brain, at least ten minutes since his heart had beat blood through his body.

"Come on, Neal. Come on."  
Peter pounded the wood of the deck in frustration and utter despair. He continued breathing.

Diana watched in quiet horror, no longer able to move. Neal's face was slack, an unnatural nothing on his features. Were it not for his haunted and empty eyes, one might even think he was asleep.

She watched as Peter choked back cries, moving from rescue breathing to chest compressions.

"Please, Neal. Come on, Neal. Come on, Neal.." Peter's broken mantra continued as he willed life into his friend's body.

"He's gone…" Diana whispered.  
She shakily rose to her feet and towards Wilson.  
"You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!" she cursed at him, losing control. Diana was hot-tempered, but losing control was rare for her. She grabbed onto Wilson's collar. "You _son of a bitch-_" her voice broke on the words as she felt tears falling freely now. She hadn't even realized that she was choking the man until she felt Jones's hand on her shoulder.

"Di, you need to let him go. Diana. Diana!"  
Diana's eyes darted up towards Jones and then down to Wilson and the look of terror in his eyes. She reluctantly let go and let Jones help her away from him and back towards Peter.

_Oh Peter._  
Peter was still bent over Neal, his face drained of all color, his eyes red. He was holding Neal's head in his lap and stroking his damp curls as a young child might play with a broken toy. He was quiet.

Diana felt her heart stop oncemore and felt her knees buckle, and were it not for Jones holding her, she would have fallen.

Diana and Jones' eyes were glued to Peter, and so they missed the slight twitch in Neal's left hand, a twitch that pathetically whispered _I am still here_.


	5. Chapter 5: Blue

_Blue.  
_Neal's skin was tinged an awful shade of blue.

The entire boat was silent. Even Wilson had the sense not to say anything.

Diana's vision was heated, and if looks could kill, that son of a bitch Wilson wouldn't be breathing right now. Jones was gripping onto her upper arm, as much out of support as of a restraint lest she beat Wilson to the bloody pulp that she wanted to.

Jones wasn't clear on what exactly had happened. He'd heard rounds fired over Neal's mic, and everything had gone silent as the communication had been severed. That alone had sent him running.  
Imagine his surprise to see Diana choking the white collar criminal, Peter awkwardly bent over Neal, and Neal… _still._

Neal Caffrey was the essence of life—always fidgeting, laughing, moving, flirting, _being._ To see the man so still, so broken…. Jones felt his breath catch. In that moment, his grip on Diana loosened, and he felt her stumble to her knees. Within a moment she rose shakily, and she was on Wilson.

Wilson had been watching the scene unfold, quietly, and suddenly, Diana was pounding into his chest. She was in hysterics, brokenly screaming at him. "Stop- stop" he pleaded, but her brown eyes glared at him with an animalistic rage that he had never before seen in his life.

Peter and Jones looked over at the commotion. Peter's eyes were dull, drained, exhausted, but he was an FBI agent and, damn, as muc has he wanted to let Diana murder this man, he didn't want her to lose her badge. He was at his feet, moving mechanically, stepping away from Neal's _body.  
_  
"Di—" his voice was flat.  
"You bastard-" Diana choked out..  
Peter flopped his hand on her shoulder, and the two made eye contact, so much said in that look. Jones anxiously looked around—he couldn't bring himself to look at Caffrey.  
Diana was gripping onto Wilson tighter now as Wilson caught Neal's hand twitch.  
"He's alive-" Wilson yelled out in desperation. Anything to get this crazy agent off of him so that he could breathe properly.  
Diana's hold didn't let up, and so Peter gripped tighter onto her shoulder. "Diana."  
Jones finally brought himself to look at Neal, and he saw that Wilson hadn't been lying. It was almost imperceptible, but by God, Neal's hand twitched a bit.

"PETER-!" Jones yelled out, finding air in his lungs that he hadn't even realized was there, a false strength in his voice.

All eyes on the boat turned towards Neal. Before Peter could even move, Diana had half flung, half dragged herself across the boat and was leaning over Neal.

Chest compressions.  
Rescue breaths.  
Chest compressions.  
Rescue breaths.

Neal gurgled, and he stirred.  
And he weakly turned his head, struggling to cough up all of the lake water.  
Peter was on his knees, holding Neal up, rubbing circles into his back as he coughed up the water.  
Jones was still where he'd been standing- he couldn't seem to move.  
Diana had stopped the chest compressions, but her hand was locked onto Neal's arm.  
The horrible, beautiful choking continued as Neal purged himself of the water. Damn, it sounded painful.  
Neal's eyes opened.

_Blue._


	6. Chapter 6

Note: I've really enjoyed writing for Diana. I'm not sure if this is OOC for her, but I'm playing off of their relationship as I see it, more specifically, the episode where she came to Neal when she and Christie had broken up. I've always felt like the two of them have a special bond, though this is not to discredit the Neal/Peter dynamic in the slightest!

I think there will be two more chapters after this- I'm not sure where else this story can go!  
Leave me some comments or prompts for what you'd like to see. I love getting prompts. J

Neal gasped, swallowing air greedily. His body was no longer numb—his chest was on fire, and each wheezing breath brought in a new wave of agony. He had never felt so weak, but he could barely lull his head to the side to dispel the water. Neal felt hands on his back, lifting him into a seated position.

_My ribs._

It was the sheer anguish of his ribs, the fire trickling down his lungs, licking his veins, taunting him, that brought him to full consciousness as his eyes shot open. He was dazed and couldn't seem to focus. He could hear a woman calling his name, a man brokenly whispering his name (he seemed almost afraid to speak it aloud), and he heard heavy breathing around him. Everything was too blurry for him to focus on one thing in particular.

Neal's body tensed and he reluctantly cried out, pushing what little air he'd managed to get into his lungs out with the cry. It was muffled, choked, but full of pain. It hurt to breathe- God, how it hurt- but he _needed_ to.

Neal could feel hands rubbing circles on his back- _feels nice_, he thought- and he slumped back into the person.

_He's alive._

"Neal! NEAL!" Diana cried out for him. She let the tears fall freely as she looked into those magnificent eyes, eyes she thought she would never see again. Neal's eyes were glazed and he didn't really seem to see her. _Brain damaged_ flashed through her mind but she shoved it away. She searched Neal's gaze, but he seemed to be fighting against silent demons, trying not to slip back into the world that only he could see, the world that she wasn't a part of.

Peter eased Neal into a seated position, supporting the kid's back with his knees, his left arm locked around Neal and holding him up, his right rubbing circles into Neal's back as Neal still coughed and sprayed water. His ragged wheezing was a melody to them all. Peter thought he whispered Neal's name, but he wasn't certain. Feeling Neal's body tense and arch, he realized how painful this position (meant to open his lungs) must be for Neal—they'd tried CPR for so long, and certainly, they'd at least bruised his ribs, maybe cracked a few.

Peter could feel Neal sagging against him, slipping away. _No.  
_"Neal. Neal!" Peter spoke sternly. "Stay with us. Neal, stay with us!" his voice sounded terrible to his own ears.  
Neal grimaced, scrunched his eyes, and then opened them as he fought back a thick cry—failing.  
His eyes were still unfocused. Diana was still gripping onto Neal's arm, her nails drawing a bit of blood, though Neal didn't notice. Neal finally managed to meet her eyes. There was a gentle compassion in them that he had only seen on rare occasions.

"Don't….cry…..a-are you okay?" he whispered to her.

Diana let out a choked laugh in spite of herself. _Leave it to Neal to ask her if she was alright._ Peter felt some of the pressure ease off of himself.

Without thinking, Diana flung herself onto Neal, hugging him. Neal winced, and Diana quickly pulled off of him. "Sorry, sorry," she spoke quickly, nervously.

Diana hadn't noticed Jones at her side.

"There's no cellphone signal out here." He said.

The implications were clear.  
Peter wasn't leaving Neal, and Jones didn't trust Diana to wait with Wilson.

Diana rose to her feet, grudgingly.

"Neal, I'll be right back, okay?" Her eyes bore into Neal's. Neal gave a weak nod, and Diana shuffled off of the boat, giving a menacing glare to Wilson as she passed him.  
Wilson flinched instinctively. _Good._

Jones struggled to make himself useful. He absently walked over to Wilson and checked his cuffs- still cuffed to the boat, good- and looked over at Neal and Peter. He felt like he was interrupting something, like he was intruding, and so he looked away, instead, staring at his hands. They were shaking- _when had they started shaking?_- and shoved them into his pockets.

Neal's eyes had fluttered shut, and he was taking painful, wheezing breaths. A minute passed, and Peter briefly wondered if Neal had passed out. Neal was trembling, though, and his body was too tense for him to have been unconscious.

"Hey, can you look at me? Please?" Peter's voice was rough and gentile at the same time. Neal forced his eyes open. _When had it gotten so bright?_ The light was nearly blinding him as he still struggled to get enough air to fight off the feeling of lightheadedness. His vision was tunneling a bit….

"Neal." Neal snapped back to attention. He was on his back again- had he passed out? He didn't remember being moved. Without thinking, Neal tried to sit up, gasping and paling even further. _Ribs… right._

Peter's heart constricted further, though he'd doubted it was possible. He ran his fingers through Neal's curls. "Neal…" he urged his friend to come back to him.

"Mm?" Neal's eyes opened oncemore.  
"Stupid of me….t-to have tried to sit up…sorry, sorry," he whispered.

Peter's brow creased.  
"You had me worried there."

"S'okay… s'okay…. I'm good." Neal murmured, struggling to stay away. His body trembled beneath Peter's hands.

Diana's footsteps were back.  
"EMTs are on the way, but it's going to be about thirty minutes," she informed them, her eyes darting from Neal to Peter to Neal to Jones to Neal to Wilson to Neal. "Water's kind of choppy…" she noted.

Amid the commotion, they hadn't realized how gloomy and grey the weather had become. The water was choppy and wild, and it looked to be getting worse.

"We should probably try and get back to land, wait for them."  
She was right. The last thing they needed was for Neal to catch pneumonia, and if the EMTs weren't able to get out to the water…

Peter grunted in response. He looked at his fallen friend.  
"I'm gonna sit you up, okay?"  
Neal nodded, clenching his jaw. Peter moved the young man into a sitting position oncemore, and Neal's sharp intake of breath was the only betrayal of his pain.

Jones materialized at their side. Peter draped his arm around Neal's midsection and wrapped Neal's left arm around his shoulders, Jones doing the same for the other side.

"Count of three," Jones said.  
Neal counted along with them, or at least he thought he had.  
"One, two…" _Three._  
_Pain._

Neal must have blacked out for a second there, because he was met with concerned looks from all three agents.

"Are you alright?"  
"Neal?"  
"Caffrey?"  
The three chimed all at once.

"Jus' peachy.." he murmured.

Jones and Peter half-dragged Neal towards the edge of the boat—the speedboat had been secured to the railing of the larger boat. The speedboat would have Neal to shore much faster. Each step was agony, and the going was slow. The exertion had Neal panting, and his lungs were still on fire. That in conjunction with the stabbing pain in his ribs…. It was all Neal could do not to pass out. He was trying his hardest to move his feet, not to be complete dead weight to his friends.

"The speedboat won't fit all five of us… we're too heavy." Jones observed.  
Someone would have to wait behind…  
Jones looked over towards Diana who just glared at him.  
Well, that settled that.  
Jones volunteered. He would stay with Wilson that way Peter and Diana could focus their full attention to Neal.

Jones and Peter made their way to the speedboat.  
"Okay, buddy. Gonna need your help here." Peter encouraged Neal. Neal lifted his right leg so that he could step into the boat. A rough wave rocked the boat and made the men lose their balance- and sent Neal crashing into the boat. Neal gasped, and Jones and Peter tried in vain to grab the injured man.

Jones cursed.

Diana was in the boat. _Wait, hadn't she just been by Wilson? How had she…_  
She was gently turning Neal over, stroking his hair. "It's okay, you're okay. Just breathe." She soothed him. Neal's jaw was locked in a grimace, but he was trying to be strong. He looked into Diana's eyes and gave a ghost of his usual Caffrey smile. His attempt brought joy and pain to Diana.

Neal was fading in her arms.


	7. Chapter 7

Neal hissed in a ragged breath; the sound of the air fighting its way into his lungs was enough to make both Peter and Diana wince in sympathy. He was trying to sit up.

"Whoa there, Neal, easy," Diana shot Peter a look. Neal wasn't listening and forced himself up so that he was sitting; he was sitting on the floor of the boat, his back against the edge. He had one leg extended, the other bent at the knee, and his hands were hanging limply at his side. Neal's neck betrayed some of his pain as it was terribly tense. His eyes were alternating between a horrible dullness and an even more horrible fire.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he murmured. Neal's eyes seemed to be burning and were an almost inhuman blue against his pale skin and damp, curly hair.  
He glanced over to Peter and then to Diana.

"Jones?"  
"He's on the boat with Wilson," Diana answered.  
Neal nodded.  
Peter and Diana were talking, but Neal was too exhausted to really listen. He took a deep breath- as deep as he dared- and closed his eyes for a moment…

"Neal?"

Neal jerked his head up; his chin had been resting on his chest.  
He pried his tired eyes open and looked out; they were now approaching the loading doc.

"How… long…. was…. I out?" Neal was still struggling to catch his breath, and his voice was both breathy and tight.

"About five minutes," Peter said tenderly. "Hey, Neal, I need you to stay awake, okay buddy?" Neal hadn't even realized his head had dropped down again. Peter's hand was holding onto the back of Neal's neck, his eyes imploring Neal's, as Diana was driving the boat.

"'Kay."  
Neal hated how weak he sounded, how little control he felt.  
_Drip. Drip._  
It had started to rain. Neal felt a raindrop on his cheek, and he involuntarily tensed.

_Neal struggled, though it was futile. He was running out of energy, losing his momentum, and it was hard to work in the dark and against the exhaustion. His lungs were burning, and it was all he could do not to breathe in the murky lake water._

"Neal?"

_Neal struggled against the anklet, but with his body lurking forward, towards the elusive surface, it was hard to bend at the waist to work whatever it was that was stuck. A bit of water crept into his nostrils, and Neal jerked. Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't breathe in. He fought his instincts as much as he could._

_He thought he heard a voice calling him, but he wasn't certain. He blinked slowly as he could feel himself fading. Peter?_

**"Neal!"  
**  
Neal jerked, not realizing his eyes had closed. He was wheezing now, shaking beneath Peter's fingertips. His eyes were wide, and they darted around nervously. He frantically met Peter's gaze.

"Neal, it's okay. You're okay. I've got you. It's okay," Peter soothed.

Neal felt anything but okay.****

**_I'm having a bit of writer's block here, and am looking for someone to help me with this story!_**


	8. Chapter 8

Peter watched grimly as Neal was loaded onto the stretcher. The kid had gone completely white, his eyes glassy, and his head tossing fitfully. Diana was at his side, clutching onto his left arm and barking orders at the EMTs.

Peter was frozen. He couldn't bring himself to move nor tear his eyes away from Neal's.  
Neal let out a small cough, his face contorting… and just like that, Peter was unfrozen.

"Neal?" The young man was loaded into the ambulance.

Peter flashed his badge and was about to tell the workers why he needed to go- he had the argument prepared- when he was simply waved into the ambulance. He met Diana's eyes—so that was what she was explaining to the EMTs. His look said what his mouth didn't: _Thank you._ Diana nodded, and then continued barking orders , allowing herself one more look at Neal. She promptly turned on her heel and made her way back towards the boat, ready to bring Jones and Wilson in.

Neal had grown still and quiet, and Peter could only watch as the circus unfolded. Needles, an IV, Neal feebly squatting the offending hands away.. He looked over at Peter as though he were a caged animal, begging to be released. Peter had to look away as he felt tears stinging his eyes.

_That god-damned anklet. I did this. I put him on a leash like an animal, and he nearly died because of it._

Neal was weak, but we was still struggling with the EMTs. They were reluctant to give him anything for the pain until they could further address his injuries. Instead, they secured his wrists to the gurney along with his ankles. Neal arched his back in protest; he was full-on panicking now.

Peter held onto Neal's forearm, trying to sooth him.  
"Neal, look at me. Look at me Neal."  
He was rewarded with a magnificent shade of blue peering into his brown eyes.  
"Just look at me, keep looking at me. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Neal nodded and slipped his eyes shut….  
_Beep. Beep. BEEEEEEEEP._

"Agent Burke, we're going to need you to step back," a young EMT ushered.  
Another was fitfully tearing open the buttons on Neal's damp blue shirt.

Peter could feel bile in his throat but forced himself to keep breathing. _No. No. No. No. Oh god. _

"[Insert Medical Terms here. Not a clue on my part, but mumbo jumbo that doesn't sound good and makes Peter tense. Quality fanfiction writing right here, am I right?]" another EMT spoke.

Peter's knees locked, and he felt the wind knocked out of him. _God no. God no._  
"He's coding. Sir, I need you to-"  
_I'm here buddy. Please don't leave. Please don't leave.  
This is all my fault. Oh god.  
_  
"Like hell I am." Peter scoffed out, though he did release his steadfast grip on Neal. Peter blanched as someone yelled _Clear!_ and they put those steel paddles on him, trying to get his heart to beat.

"Nothing, again!"

Neal's body convulsed.

Peter's mind was a haze of memories, of hats, of goofy grins, near misses, that damn sheriff badge that Neal had paraded around the office with, origami flowers, ocean blue eyes, witty banter, a best friend….

"Please Neal.." Peter pleaded, his voice quiet and thick.

Another electric shock.  
Neal's body convulsed.  
_Beep. Beep. Beep._

He was back.  
Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, his whole body wracked with tremors.

Neal lulled his head and opened his eyes, looking at Peter. His face was full of alarm and he jerked back.  
"B-Burke?"

Peter took a step towards Neal. Neal looked at him, but his look was different somehow.  
"_What… is happening….? Y-You caught… me? Kate… Kate… I-I can't go back to prison…._"

Peter looked at the EMTs in alarm and raised his hand to stroke Neal's hair, to comfort him. Neal jolted away. "_No. I can't go back. I can't go back to prison. "_

Peter's mouth was dry as cotton. "Neal, buddy, you're not going to prison. It's okay. We're g-goingtothehospital," Peter slurred, his heart hammering in his chest. _What was Neal talking about?_

"Agent Burke… l-looks like ya finally c-caught me…" Neal whispered before slipping into oblivion.

Peter couldn't breathe, but this time for new reasons. Could Neal have forgotten their three year partnership?

_  
Don't worry- this isn't going to be an amnesiac fiction. Just wanted to give Peter something _else_ to worry about, in case he didn't have enough on his plate! Coming up, the hospital, Mozzie, El, and a very anxious Peter, Jones, and Diana. Feel free to drop any suggestions or requests.


	9. Chapter 9: He's gone

Neal had oncemore flat-lined on the ambulance. They had revived him and rushed him past the doors that Peter wasn't allowed in. The doctors had explained that Neal's body was weakened—he'd been without oxygen for a long time. His heart had stopped beating multiple times today. His weak body… _weak because of me…_

Peter shakily walked towards the receptionist of the hospital.

"Yes?"

Peter clenched his hands.

"I'm here to see a patient—Neal Caffrey."

"Relation to the patient?"

"I'm his…." _Handler? Boss? Friend?  
_"He's my partner."

The nurse let out a frustrated huff, ready to give him a lecture about expecting preferential treatment.  
Peter glared at her just as Hughes walked into the room. He explained the situation to the woman- honestly, Peter was fuming in his rage (which probably wasn't fair to the woman, but hell, it had been a long day) and wasn't really listening.

The nurse begrudgingly gave Hughes an understanding nod, granting Hughes permission, but not Peter.  
Peter glared at her and motioned towards the door, _daring_ her to stop him.  
Maybe it was the look in his eyes… she didn't stop him.  
"Room 203 on your left," she muttered.

Peter was at the door in three long strides, though he was overwhelmed by a crowd of doctors leaving the room, their eyes haunted, disappointment all around.

"W-What's going… what's happened?"

One of the doctors grasped onto Peter's shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, sir… we did everything we could. He's gone… you should go wait in the lobby, and a nurse will be with you shortly…"

Peter felt his legs shaking as he barreled past the doctors and into the hospital room. There was a body on the bed, covered in a thin white sheet.

_Oh God. Oh God.  
Oh God, Neal. Neal! NEAL!_

Peter gripped onto the door, seeing spots. He could feel hot tears running down his face.  
_Oh God. No. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This isn't real, this isn't real._

_**"NEAL!"**_Peter let out a tormented, thick cry.

Surely this had to be a dream.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, and then again, willing this to go away. _Neal…_

"Sir, sir!" A doctor was trying to get his attention, see if he was alright. Peter felt his legs give out as he slid against the wall and onto the floor.  
He was vaguely aware of two doctors helping him stand.  
Peter's eyes were fixed to Neal's lifeless body.  
_Oh God. Oh God._

The doctors helped to walk him to the lobby, and his tortured eyes met Diana's.  
He gave a quick shake of the head, and all of the color drained from her face. Peter grabbed onto her, held her for dear life, and the two of them sunk to the ground together.

Diana was hyperventilating.  
Peter was going to be sick.

He soundlessly got to his feet and walked to the bathroom, and he threw up.  
_Neal._  
He dry heaved.  
_Neal… dead…. Neal…_

Peter splashed water on his face, his clammy face.  
Deep breath in, deep breath out.  
Breathe. Breathe.

Peter needed to get back to Diana.. and Jones would be here soon.  
_Elizabeth._ He was going to have to tell Elizabeth.  
Peter was on the verge of another panic attack..

He opened the bathroom door, his vision tunneling.

A doctor was by his side, escorting him to an unoccupied room.  
Trying to calm him down.  
Peter couldn't think. If he thought too long, he thought of Neal's piercing blue eyes, the damn anklet holding him captive, the blue tinge of his lips as he'd been plucked from the merciless water, the grimace as his ribs throbbed (an injury that he himself had inflicted upon Neal!)…. And the best friend he would never see again. _Anklet._

"I'm fine," Peter spoke mechanically.  
"I need to call my wife."

The doctor reluctantly stepped aside.  
Without thinking of where he was, he found himself walking towards Neal's room… the room that held his body.

Still there.  
Not breathing.  
No life.  
Neal..

Peter breathed uncertainly. He needed to look at his friend one last time.  
A step towards the hospital bed.  
Another step.  
Another.  
No, no, he couldn't do it. He couldn't look.  
Peter felt hot tears.

"Peter?"  
Peter heard a hoarse voice behind him. He turned.  
_Neal?!_

It was Jones.

Jones took in Peter's appearance.  
"Have you been to see Caffrey?" There were more questions than implied. _ Are you okay, Peter? What's happened?_

Peter sickeningly motioned towards the body on the bed.

"What?"  
"H-He's gone.." Peter mumbled brokenly.  
"Peter, I just saw him. He's in room 208."  
_What?_ Peter felt his knees buckling.  
The nurse had told him 203.

Peter felt himself being guided, but he wasn't really aware… until he found himself in front of room 208…  
He walked inside.

_Neal.  
_  
Neal looked up at Peter and smiled.  
"Hey! You here to spring me?" Neal joked.  
He shot a worried look to Jones.  
"Is he okay?"

Peter couldn't breathe, and he passed out.


	10. Chapter 10

_Peter was running out of breath, seeing spots in his vision. He quickly rose towards the surface, filled his lungs, and dove back under. It took him a moment to find the spot where he'd left Neal- Neal, who still wasn't moving._

_With the penlight in his teeth, he fumbled for the key. Panicking now, he gave another tug on Neal's leg.  
Stay calm. Stay calm.  
Too late.  
Peter's heart was pounding in his ears, in his chest, and he was shaking with fear and anxiety. His muscles were tense as he feebly looked for the key in the sand below. Dammit! Dammit!_

_Another achingly slow minute passed, and Peter could oncemore see spots as he fought against his burning lungs. Another trip to the surface for air, precious air. He could hear Diana calling him, but his mind was on Neal alone. He dove back into the darkness._

_Another frantic minute of searching… The anklet is killing him. The anklet is killing him._

"Peter? Hon?"

Peter's eyes fluttered open.  
He was lying down, and Elizabeth's concerned blue eyes were gazing down at him. They were rimmed with red and filled with unshed tears.

Peter weakly smiled at her, his clumsy fingers finding her cheek.  
"Hey hon," he reassured her.

"Oh, Peter. Hon, I can't even imagine what y—"

_Neal._

"He's-He's gone, El."

"What?"

"Neal—" Peter bellowed, unable to finish the sentence. He was on the verge of tears, and so he swallowed thickly.

"Hon, Neal's-"

"D-Dead! Because of me! I put that damn anklet on him like an animal, and n-now he's… he's—"  
Now Peter was close to hyperventilating.

"Hon, listen to me, Neal is—"

"My best friend, El, Oh God.."

"I'm touched, Peter," came a quiet voice. There was a tinge of sarcasm to that voice, though it was impossible to discern the worry in it.

Peter whipped his head to the side, towards the direction of his voice, and was met with an even bright pair of blue eyes on a bed next to him.

"Neal-" Peter squawked. He began to sit up. When he passed out, they must have eased him onto the second and unoccupied patient bed.

"You scared us there for a second—Jones brought you to my room and you looked as if you'd seen a ghost… you alright, Peter?" Neal's gaze was unwavering as he assessed his shaken friend.

Peter was at his feet despite El's gentle protests.

"I-I saw… The nurse.. she gave me the wrong room. I walked in on… body….thought you were…."  
El's face clearly showed her horror at the situation, as did Neal's usually masked emotions.

"Oh God, Peter. That's awful. I'm [wheezing cough] so sorry." Neal's concern for his friend was robbing him of his energy.

Peter found himself running his fingers through Neal's hair; ordinarily, he wasn't such a touchy-feely person with Caffrey, but he needed a tangible hold on Neal. He needed to look into his eyes, to see that he was with him. Flashbacks haunted him already. He continued running his fingers through Neal's hair, and Neal, fading a bit, leaned into the touch with a smile.

Elizabeth's heart warmed at the paternalistic relationship- Neal was their thirty-two year old child. She let out a weak sigh.

El was by Neal's side as well, next to Peter. Her hand was on the small of Peter's back, encouraging, delicate, and yet strong enough to show that she supported him both emotionally and physically should he faint again. Her other hand was on Neal's leg, near his ankle. Without realizing it, her fingers skimmed where the anklet used to be.

Neal jerked up, eyes wide, tugging his leg away. His panic was palpable as he arched his back and then, in a fit of pain, sagged into the bed, eyes rolling shut.

Peter and Elizabeth shared a quick look of dismay.

"And here… I was g-gonna tease _you_… 'bout fainting…" Neal drawled with a pained smile, his eyes still closed.

Peter laughed somewhat manically, his anxiety and emotions manifesting himself in that one moment of relief, of Caffrey wit that he'd feared was lost for good. El eyed him concernedly.

A doctor walked in, clipboard in hand, and acknowledged them both.  
"Agent Burke, I presume?"  
Peter nodded.  
"I'm here to brief you on Mr. Caffrey's situation. I spoke with a Special Agent Hughes and was told to inform you."  
Again, Peter nodded.

The doctor lifted the clipboard and was about to suggest they step out into the hallway to talk, but Neal had passed out, succumbed to an exhausted and dreamless slumber.


	11. Chapter 11

Peter was on his third, maybe fourth, cup of the sludge that the hospital called coffee.

"Hon, he's going to be okay.. you've had a difficult day. I think we should get you home. You can take a shower, get a decent lunch, and we can come back here to see-"

"No! I'm not leaving him." Peter snapped at El, regretting it instantly as he saw a look of hurt flash upon her face. She'd stepped back from him, too. Had he really been so forceful as to frighten her?

Peter felt like a jerk (Burke the Jerk, he recalled Neal mentioning once, when they'd revealed the names they'd referred to each other by before actually meeting one another). He looked at El, really looked at her, and could see the worry lines around her eyes, her wet lashes, and he let himself sigh.

"I'm sorry, Hon." His voice carried an air of defeat.  
El closed the distance between the two of them and embraced him.

"You're worried about him. We both are. But Doctor Morgan said that Neal will be asleep for a while, so please… for me, just go home, get yourself cleaned up, and let's get some decent food, okay?"

Peter knew that mother-henning was El's way of coping, of feeling useful, so he nodded.  
Peter allowed himself one more glimpse of his unconscious partner before exiting, arm wrapped around his wife.

Peter was quiet on the way home; El had insisted on driving, and she was rattling off ideas for things to bake Neal, physical therapists that she'd been looking up (she'd been darting about the hospital while Neal had been unconscious) who could assist with helping Neal heal and work through the damage of his ribs, psychologists to help with the trauma, and of course how she'd spoken with June and the two had agreed that Neal would stay with Peter and El while he was healing.

June loved Neal, of course, but she was staying with her niece while she recuperated from a torn ligament in her leg, and she couldn't leave the girl.

June and El had spoken on the phone for about an hour- again, while Peter had been with Neal- and set everything up.

El dropped Peter off at their home.  
"Go take a shower, hon, and try to relax. I'm going to swing by June's place and get a back for Neal."

Now, Peter found himself tiredly walking upstairs to take a shower. He was drained. His mind kept reeling back to the sheer terror of the dead body that wasn't Neal, and then to Neal's blue lips, Neal's blue eyes, the anklet… the whole day.

He shuddered.

Peter ran the shower and peeled off his grimy button-up. He discarded it along with the rest of his clothes to a crumbled corner on the floor of the bathroom. It wasn't as though the clothes themselves were ruined—there was no blood, and dirt would come out—but Peter knew he would toss them out. He'd been holding Neal as he died in those clothes. He'd failed to rescue his friend in time in those clothes.

Quaking now, Peter forced his eyes shut and took a deep breath, and then another.

He stepped into the shower, letting it rinse the grime of the lake water from his brown hair. He lathered, scrubbed, trying to rid himself of the memories of the horrible morning. He peered out of the shower and was able to see the alarm clock on his nightstand—it was 3:07pm. Hard to believe that so much could have happened in such a short amount of time..

The water was scalding hot, but it didn't feel hot enough. Peter let the water run over his face, willing himself not to relive it, but…

_Neal's eyes were open in alarm as he scanned Peter's face. Peter gripped onto the younger man's arm and gave a tug- Neal was stuck on something._

_Neal wilted and blinked slowly, and then motioned down towards his ankle, giving a weak tug. Alarmed, Peter shined the penlight down and fought the bile rising from his throat- the anklet- the god dammed anklet was killing him!_

_Just hang on, Neal. I've got you._

Peter reached into his pocket for the anklet's key and put the penlight in his mouth to direct the beam of light. He struggled to unlock the anklet as Neal was still struggling weakly against him. Neal gave one more feeble jerk before stilling completely- Oh god- as Peter stole a look towards his partner, aiming the beam of light towards the CI's face. Neal's eyes were still wide, but the alarm was gone… the recognition was gone… the life was gone.

Peter took an unsteady breath, turning the water off.

_Peter had just pushed Neal towards the surface and finally made his way up. His eyes darted nervously towards his partner. Neal was facedown, bobbing in the water._

Peter shakily stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist.

He walked over to the bed and sat down. He sunk his head down into his hands, ran his fingers through his hair, and took another deep breath, trying not to hyperventilate.

He remembered trying to breathe life into Neal's vacant body.

_"Come on, Neal. Come on."  
Peter pounded the wood of the deck in frustration and utter despair. He continued breathing._

_Neal's face was slack, an unnatural nothing on his features. Were it not for his haunted and empty eyes, one might even think he was asleep._

_Peter choked back cries, moving from rescue breathing to chest compressions._

_"Please, Neal. Come on, Neal. Come on, Neal.." Peter's broken mantra continued as he willed life into his friend's body._

_"He's gone…" Diana whispered._

Peter took another uncertain breath.  
Neal is alive, Neal is alive. He's okay. He's at the hospital. He's okay now…

Still, somewhat cruelly, his mind had him back at the hospital, at room 203.  
_Peter was at the door in three long strides, though he was overwhelmed by a crowd of doctors leaving the room, their eyes haunted, disappointment all around._

_"W-What's going… what's happened?"_

_One of the doctors grasped onto Peter's shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, sir… we did everything we could. He's gone… you should go wait in the lobby, and a nurse will be with you shortly…"_

_Peter felt his legs shaking as he barreled past the doctors and into the hospital room. There was a body on the bed, covered in a thin white sheet._

_Oh God. Oh God.  
Oh God, Neal. Neal! NEAL!_

_Peter gripped onto the door, seeing spots. He could feel hot tears running down his face.  
Oh God. No. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This isn't real, this isn't real._

_**"NEAL!"**__Peter let out a tormented, thick cry._

_Surely this had to be a dream._

_Peter squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, and then again, willing this to go away. Neal…_

Peter forced his eyes open, and he took another breath, this one thick and painful..

Peter stood up so that he could go to the closet and change… but instead, he felt his legs wobbling beneath him. He made it to the wall and slid down to the ground, his breathing rapid.

_Neal is alive._

And Peter Burke cried.


	12. Chapter 12: Go get our boy

El arrived back to an all-too quiet house. No television on, no shower running, not even the sound of feet moving. Her heart constricted.  
Peter's car was still at the FBI headquarters, thus leaving him with no way to leave..?

"Hon?" El peered inside, gently setting Neal's bag next to the couch. El had been gone for maybe an hour as she'd gone to collect Neal's things; she'd been sure to select a comfortable pair of slacks (leave it to Neal not to own any sweatpants), a few loose-fitting shirts, and his house robe and slippers.  
Likewise, she'd plucked a few art books along with the sketchpad that Neal kept hidden in the couch seat (the one that no one was supposed to know about). Admittidly, El had been curious to peak what was inside- as talented as Neal was at forging, he was less than forthcoming about his own work, and Elizabeth... really Peter, Diana, anyone for that matter, had yet to see a Caffrey original.  
But it wasn't the time for that. When El saw one of Neal's works, she wanted it to be because Neal wanted her to. So with that, she had sighed and brought the sketchpad without so much as a glimpse inside.

El shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. And presently, Peter was nowhere to be found.

"I'm being silly, right Satch?" she spoke aloud, trying to smile. "He's probably just asleep, right boy?"

Still, El took the stairs two at a time and peered into the bathroom. Peter's clothes were in a crumpled heap on the floor. Okay, now El was a little more concerned.

"Peter?"

El sighed in relief as she saw Peter in the bedroom, but her brow furrowed with worry as she looked at him. He was sitting against the wall on the floor by their closet; his jaw was locked in a grimace, he was tense, and his breathing was rapid.

"Hon?"

Peter didn't acknowledge her.

"Peter. Peter!"

El placed a hand on his shoulder to which Peter's eyes snapped open, his hand grabbing onto her arm forcefully. El involuntarily yelped.

Peter's eyes skitted across the room, a bit clouded, as he came to from his nightmare. His eyes found El's face just as he heard her yelp.  
His eyes shot down to his hand on her arm, and he pulled back like her skin was on fire.

"El, I'm so sorry," his voice was rough, crackled a bit.

"Peter, are you alright?"

"I'm so, sorry. I hurt you. I hurt you."

El used her other hand to caress Peter's face, running her fingers through his still-damp hair.

"Peter, I'm fine, it's okay hon, I'm fine." El's words were running together.

Peter huffed.

"Hon.. are you alright?" El's voice was controlled.

Peter didn't respond, his eyes no longer on El's face but instead at his own hands.

"Peter?"

Peter still wouldn't look at her.

El guided his face towards hers, her eyes skimming over ever feature of his face, of his clumped eyelashes.. Peter had been crying. El's heart broke.

"Peter..." she soothed.

Peter finally looked into her eyes.  
"He almost died, El.. He almost died because of me."

El was about to go into the day's events (she'd been filled in by Diana earlier) and try to talk some sense into her husband, but he was quickly to his feet. El would have found it comical that Peter was still in his towel, but the circumstances were too wary, and instead, it just broke El's heart a little bit more.

Peter darted into the walk-in closet and then quickly exited- he was wearing slacks and a black polo shirt, slipping his shoes on.

"Peter-"

"El, hon, can we go back to the hospital?"

"Peter, I don't think-"

"Please, hon.. I just.. I just need to see him, I need to see that he's okay, awake. Please hon.."

El's heart broken once more for her husband, and she sighed.

"Okay, okay hon." She reached for Peter's hand, but he was already ahead of her, barreling down the stairs. El wiped away a silent tear, glad that Peter's back was to her.

They made their way downstairs, and Peter was already grabbing his jacket.

"Wait- did you eat?" El inquired.

Peter's grumbling stomach gave him away.

El was growing frustrated with Peter now. Her anger was boiling inside of her.. though to be fair, it wasn't all Peter.

It was this day in general.

Her catering client had been a pain in the ass, she'd spilled coffee on herself when she'd heard the news about Neal, she'd nearly lost it when she'd seen his weak form on the hospital bed, and she'd further agitated him when she'd accidentally touched his ankle at the hospital (she was still beating herself up about that one)... GOD how STUPID could she be?  
And now, the icing on the cake, Peter.

"Peter, you need to eat something."  
"El, we need to-"

"PETER," she snapped. Being angry kept her from dwelling, kept the tears at bay, and now wasn't an appropriate time for a melt-down. Peter and Neal... Neal needed her.  
"You're going to get into that damn kitchen and- and-" El took a shaky breath.

Peter felt like an ass. Here he was running around, not even bothering to consider how stressful this day had been for Elizabeth.  
He'd nearly killed Neal... and... and... Dammit. He wasn't going to cause his wife any more stress.

Peter looked at her.. God, how he loved her. He strided over to her and placed his hand on the small of her back. He could feel her trembling and again, felt like such an ass.  
He guided her towards the table and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm sorry, hon. I just- I'll fix us something to eat, alright?" Peter's eyes implored hers.

El smiled a sad smile.

"No, Peter, you're right. We should.. we should get back. Let's just make some sandwiches and bring them with us. Besides, I'm sure Neal will be starving-" her voice broke and she mentally kicked herself for it. Elizabeth Burke was not a weak person, especially when her family needed her.. and that's what Neal was. Family. One look at Peter's tormented eyes or El's broken baby blues was enough to tell anyone that.

In a silent yet familiar rhythm, the duo made some sandwiches and packed them up.

The made their way to the car and drove in silence.

They arrived at the hospital no later that fifteen minutes later. El was a cautious driver, but Peter hadn't been oblivious to her accelerations at yellow lights, her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and the other half-dozen traffic laws she'd broken.

They held hands as they anxiously walked into the hospital. El was the first to let go of his hand, and she gave him a look. "Go on.. I'll be right in, okay?"

Much as it killed El, she knew that Peter was beating himself up and needed a moment with the younger man. Peter looked at her gratefully.

"I love you," he murmured into her temple as he placed a delicate kiss there.

"I love you, too. Now go check on our boy."


	13. Chapter 13

Poor Diana! Thanks to a review from guest/asdf, I realized that I never really dealt with Diana in the waiting room. Poor thing thinks Neal is dead, and here, Peter and El have already gone home! Anyhow, this is a bit of a filler chapter to what happened and what she went through.

_

Diana watched, uncharacteristically frozen in place as Neal had crashed before her very eyes. She couldn't breathe. Since when had this con burrowed into her heart this way? Each loud thump in her ears was a painful reminder that her heart was working, that Neal's was not..

Diana hadn't been allowed onto the ambulance; she was a coworker of Neal's, not his handler. So she'd secured the next best thing—for Peter to be able to.

She could still see Neal's fading form as the ambulance sped away.

Diana had, thankfully, been able to clear the scene quickly. Local NYPD had arrived, she'd spewed off some instructions, and she'd phoned Hughes from the car. About fifteen minutes after the ambulance had arrived, Diana pulled in to the parking lot, her unsteady legs miraculously propelling her forward.

_Come on, Caffrey._

Diana then had to do the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life… wait.

Seconds were sluggish, and time seemed to stand still, though the rapid beat of her heart rivaled the slow ticking of the clock. Tic-tock-_thumpthumpthumpthump_, and then again.

Diana's eyes darted around, searching for Peter. She caught him at the receptionist's area. He was flashing his badge and angrily demanding to see Neal. She then saw Hughes approaching, speaking to the woman in a much calmer tone than Peter had been, and finally, Peter barreling through the doors.

Diana crossed the room, over to Hughes.  
Hughes must have taken in her disheveled appearance.

"Wait here with Peter. I'll go back to the office and write up the report. Jones should be here soon. He'll be okay."

It was uncharacteristic and extremely thoughtful for a boss such as Hughes to write up a simple white collar report—it was nearly unheard of—which in itself spoke for the direness of the situation, of how awful and taxing and draining the day had been on the White Collar family.

Diana nodded appreciatively—she didn't trust herself to speak.

Watching as Hughes left, Diana found her eyes burning into the door that Peter had gone through.

Deep breath.

Peter would be out soon, telling her that Caffrey was fine, that he was just a bit sore.  
She wouldn't put it past Neal to flirt his way to a private room, securing dozens of female admirers during his trip. A smile ghosted her face at the very idea—but of course, Neal would do it.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she saw her boss in front of her, his eyes dull and dead and yet full of torment. He was being supported by two doctors—one might have thought he was the patient with all of the attention surrounding him.

_Peter?_ She opened her mouth to speak, afraid to ask. The look in Peter's eyes as he finally met hers was a validation of her nightmares.

_Don't say it. Don't say it,_ she pleaded. Because if he didn't say it, she could cling to the idea that Neal was still with her, that Neal was alive, that everything was alright. _Don't say it._ Diana was shaking.

Peter looked into her eyes, and as the tears began to well up in hers, Peter gave a quick shake of his head.

_No. _

Diana felt herself swaying. _No, no, no. _

She couldn't speak.

Peter was in front of her now, holding her in place, or maybe she was holding him in place. Maybe neither of them were being held in place… yes, that was it, because as they gripped onto one another, they both sank to the floor.

Diana let out a broken sob, a broken cry of the name of the young man they had both lost. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

Diana was hyperventilating now, and Peter looked like he was going to pass out or throw up, or both.

Peter rose, leaving Diana on the ground, clutching her arms to her chest in the hopes of filling the void in her heart.

Peter was gone from her view, and Diana let the tragedy overcome her.

Moments passed. Minutes? Hours? Days? Years? Who the hell could tell?  
Her eyes held a haunted look as she felt a hand on her shoulder.  
She flinched, jerked at the touch.  
Jones.

"Di, you alright?"  
Diana opened her mouth to speak but couldn't.  
Jones hoisted her to her feet, supporting her like he had on the boat earlier.

Jones assumed that Diana was just in shock, finally realizing how close they'd come to losing one of their own. He didn't realize that she thought Neal was dead.

Jones guided her towards Neal's room. Maybe if she saw him for herself, she would be alright.  
Jones couldn't understand why Diana was pulling against him, resisting.  
"Don't you want to see him?" he implored.

_Oh God. He's taking me to see Neal's b-body… Neal's body. Not Neal anymore. Just his body. Neal is gone._ Diana's head was spinning. But as not ready as she was, she needed to be strong. She needed to do this… Oh God, how could this day have turned out so badly?

Jones opened the door, and Diana could hear a man's voice- he sounded just like Neal (_No, don't do this to yourself_)- trying to sweet talk his way into an early discharge. His voice sounded strained, weak… but unmistakably…

_Neal._

Diana was never one for the dramatics, but as she saw Neal there, saw those magnificent blue eyes that she thought she would never see again… she flung herself over to him, holding him.

She felt Neal stroke the back of her head, run his fingers along her hair, comforting her.  
"Diana, hey.. hey.." his voice was gentle, soothing, as Diana sobbed.

"It's okay. I'm okay. Hey…"

"I thought you were..." Diana sobbed.

"No no no… shhh, it's okay."

Neal's face was tight with pain- Jones doubted that Diana's grip on him was comfortable in the slightest- but he didn't seem to be in a hurry to push her away. His expression was tender as he caressed Diana, trying to sooth her. Jones had never seen Diana like this, never so emotional or raw, and he felt like he was intruding.

So he left the two of them and decided to go and track down Peter.


	14. Chapter 14

Peter's heart thumped in his ribs as he opened the door.

Neal was asleep—"Oh, hey Peter." He slid hid eyes open.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nah, thought you were Mozz. He's been pretty good about dragging himself in here, but he keeps rattling off ways to bust me out." Neal chuckled softly, the pain that the action caused etched in his face.

Peter was still lingering by the door. He just wanted to look at Neal, but he didn't want to make Neal uncomfortable.

"Hey, you alright?" Neal's voice was still weak, but he sounded significantly stronger than he had before. His eyes were more vibrant, more sharp.

Peter forced himself to smile.  
"Shouldn't I be the one to ask you that?"

"Well, Peter, you are the one who _fainted._" Neal quipped.

God, it felt so good to be back in this familiar banter.  
Peter was never really one for physical displays of affection, but the day had taken quite a toll on him. He awkwardly stepped towards Neal's bed, letting his hand clutch onto the side railing of the bed. He frowned when he noticed that Neal's left hand was cuffed to it.

Neal, just as sharp as ever, noticed.  
"Oh yeah, the marshals came by. Until they get a new anklet, it was either this or surveillance, unless I wanted to go to the prison infirmary." Neal tried to keep his tone light, but Peter had noticed the slight tremble in his voice at the mention of the anklet.

Peter's gaze snapped from the cuffs to Neal's blue eyes.  
Peter's eyes were shiny and bright and nearly burning a hole into Neal. This was certainly unfamiliar territory, and Neal felt incredibly self-conscious. He felt horrible for putting Peter through this. He couldn't even begin to imagine how Peter must have felt when he'd thought Neal was dead. Selfishly, though, Neal felt a warmth in his heart. It was nice to have somebody worry about him. He worried about Peter often, about El, Diana, Jones, Mozzie… but it felt nice to have someone worry about him.

"Neal, I am so… sorry. I wish.. I wish there was another word for it. You nearly…" _No, there was no 'nearly' about it. Neal had died. Neal had died twice._ Peter's breath hitched.

"You died. Twice. Because of me, and I can't—I can't-"

Neal felt like the scum of the earth. His heart ached for Peter. He'd never seen the older man this worked up.. well, maybe, when Keller had kidnapped Elizabeth, but this was different.

"Peter—"

"Neal, let me finish. You asked me to take the anklet off of you before the undercover op, and I refused. I _refused_. And you died because of it. You-You-"

"Peter, I'm alive. I'm okay, see?" To illustrate his point, Neal painted on his million-dollar-Caffrey-smile.  
"And you didn't refuse. You forgot that Hughes had the key, and you didn't want to wait. Which is good! We didn't have time, and if I hadn't shown up for the meeting.. things could've gotten bad."

"What, worse than you _dying_?" He spat.

"Peter, I'm not dead. I'm alive. You saved my life. You. Saved. My Life." Neal needed for the words to sink in, needed to ease his friend's guilt.

Neal had gotten himself a little worked up in the process, his breathing a bit more rapid. He paled slightly; his lungs still burned a bit when he breathed, and his ribs throbbed.

Peter could see this, of course, and mentally scolded himself. Leave it to him to agitate the young man. He was going to drop this—for now.

"Peter." Neal's voice was pained.  
Peter didn't really trust himself to speak, so he just nodded towards Neal.

"You saved my life. None of this, _none of this_ is your fault. I'd still be at the bottom of that lake if it not for you."

His eyes flickered away for a moment.  
"You saved my life in other ways too." His voice was barely above a whisper, almost as if he was merely thinking aloud.

Peter felt Neal's fingers on his wrist. He was awkwardly reaching for Peter's hand but was impaired due to the handcuff. Peter cupped Neal's hand in both of his like a concerned father. Neal looked up at him.

His eyes were bright and full of emotion.  
_Thank you._

Peter smiled, his heart warm.  
_You're welcome._

In the next chapter, the Burkes will be bringing Neal home to heal, and they're going to have to approach to topic of a new anklet. Lots of hurt/comfort awaits!


	15. Chapter 15

"No."

"Yes."

"No. I've been cooped up in this bed for three days. I want to go home—"

"Neal, you have two broken ribs. You really think you're gonna be able to take care of yourself?"

Neal looked offended. He took a breath to argue his case, though the action pained him and caused him to pale slightly.

_See?_ Peter wanted to say.

"I'm f-"

"Dammit, Caffrey, you're not fine. It's okay not to be _fine._"

"But I will be. And I need to be in my own home."

Neal was like a cat, preferring to lick his wounds in private, but dammit, the kid was too thick-headed to admit he needed help. Neal had nearly died- no, he _had _died. And he had narrowly warded off a fever after two days in a medicated slumber. His ribs were healing. He wasn't healthy yet. And yet here he was being as stubborn as ever. Peter sighed in frustration.

"I'll take it easy, drink some of June's delicious coffee, paint by the terrace—" Neal's voice had taken on a dreamy quality, a grin illuminating his face and almost making it to his eyes. The man looked like a school-kid who was telling his teacher about his energetic puppy in order to get out of a homework assignment.

_He's trying to con me._ _He's trying to bait me into seeing just how great his life with June is so that I'll argue with him about his fancy living conditions…and so we can leave this conversation._

Peter had chased Neal for years, had worked with him for three years now, and he knew him pretty well.

Peter exhaustedly ran his fingers through his hair. It was time to call in the big guns- Elizabeth.  
She'd dashed off about an hour ago; the two of them had taken turns at Neal's bedside while he fought off the fever. The past three days had been tense with Neal not quite lucid. El had been working from the hospital as much as she could, but with her business, she still had to pop out from time to time.

And Peter still had paperwork to write about the case that had nearly cost Neal his life. He was Neal's friend, Elizabeth's husband, but he was still an FBI agent with responsibilities.

Plus there had been the matter of the US Marshalls. They'd wanted to put the anklet back on Neal immediately. It was Hughes that had convinced them to wait—but they wouldn't wait much longer. Cowardly, Peter had hoped that he could just clasp it on while Neal was unconscious. He dreaded having to shackle Neal with the thing that had trapped him under that murky water.

Peter was ready to bring El into the conversation when he heard the door click. He turned, but it wasn't El.

_Mozzie._

"Hello, mon frère," Mozzie peeped into the room. "_Suit._" The disdain in his voice was plain.  
Mozzie had visited Neal a few times over the past three days, when it was just Elizabeth or when he thought they were asleep. Mozzie blamed Peter—rightly so- for nearly stealing the breath from his fellow conman.

"Moz," Neal's voice was warm if a little raw still.

"You ready to go?" Mozzie stepped fully into the room, and Peter rolled his eyes.

Mozzie was adorned in a white coat and a _very_ realistic looking hospital badge. He had a wheelchair with him.

Neal's eyes lit up, and he grinned, really grinned, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.  
"Absolutely, doctor," he responded, his voice mock-serious.

"No, no, no, no—" Peter stepped to intercept Mozzie's trajectory towards Neal.

A doctor seemingly materialized out of nowhere.

"Ah, Dr. Mason, I see you've found Mr. Caffrey's room." A tan-skinned man with tired eyes motioned from Mozzie to Neal.

"I've got his paperwork all ready to go. I'll just need Mr. Caffrey to sign as well."

"What is this?" Peter wanted to smack the grin off of Neal's face.

"Dr. Mason is my personal doctor, Peter. He went to _Oxford._" Neal looked over towards Mozzie, who was smiling sanguinely.

"I'm checking myself out of the hospital and into Dr. Mason's care. He's going to tend to me at home."

_You've got to be kidding me._

"This can't be safe." _AMA anyone?_

"Mr. Caffrey is out of the woods. He's just going to be sore for a while.. but as long as someone's around to keep an eye on him, there's no immediate threat or reason he should remain in the hospital. And Dr. Mason—may I just take a moment to say I admired your thesis on—"

Peter mentally checked out of the conversation at this point, anger and frustration tingeing his vision. He took in the scene around him. Of course Mozzie would have a degree, of course Neal would have forged it for him, of course they'd have this plan in place. _Of course._

He looked at Neal who was positively beaming, at Mozzie who was nodding along as his "medical research" was being praised.

He could argue it—but he knew that it would only get Neal worked up. And he had no doubt that Mozzie's "paperwork" would clear. But dammit, he felt responsible for this and wanted to make sure that Neal was healing properly and under _his _roof. Peter was vaguely aware of a brew of jealousy, but he pushed it away.

Neal signed the paperwork, his mouth tightening in a line as he agitated his ribs a bit. The unnamed doctor smiled and gave Mozzie a polite nod before exciting.

Mozzie, meanwhile, was unhooking Neal's IV and all sorts of other wires. Peter was growing livid.

Neal eyed the wheelchair warily. "Moz…"

"Sorry, Neal, but we have to make this look official."  
Mozzie could see that Neal was in pain, and he wasn't comfortable with his friend walking anyhow, but Neal was ever the macho-man… no, not really that, just a man who hated showing weakness.

Neal sighed in response, easing himself on the bed and into the wheelchair, blanching a bit.

Grunting in frustration, Peter strode out of the room. He wasn't going to be a part of this. _Damn you, Caffrey, _ he thought, as he whipped out his cell phone and called his wife.


	16. Chapter 16

_This is just a quick chapter- the next chapter will have an angry Peter bringing Neal to his house to recuperate, though Neal doesn't think he needs it! -Amber_

Elizabeth stifled a laugh as she watched Peter pacing their living room.  
It was sweet, touching, and it warmed Elizabeth's heart. An honestly, after how stressful the past few days had been, it felt damn good to smile. Memories of a feverish Neal haunted her, the pain he'd been unable to hide, the weak murmurs for Kate, the nightmares that she couldn't even begin to imagine…

"Aw, Hon, you're _jealous_."

"He nearly _died_, El. And Mozzie isn't prepared to handle him like this. Mozzie isn't going to make sure he's resting or taking his medicine. And no, he didn't almost die—scratch that. He _did_ die. And Mozzie isn't going to.. He's not gonna…" Peter was fuming again as the image of that stupid grin on Neal's face, the smirk on Mozzie's, and the amusement on Elizabeth's faces reappeared in his mind. He grunted in frustration.

"Of all of the stupid cons he's pulled over the years.. I wouldn't be surprised if Mozzie has a sting all planned out for Neal just because he's-" _off anklet. YES. That's it!_

And now with a legitimate excuse as to why Neal would need to recuperate under _his _roof, lest he wear that anklet again, Peter was out the door. **_Let_**_ El mother-hen him, _Peter thought vindictively_. _Peter smiled at the thought of an overbearing Neal and found himself looking forward to the nonchalant _oh, sorry about that_ look he would give Neal when Neal realized that Elizabeth was going to coddle him into oblivion.


	17. Chapter 17

Peter was in Neal's apartment, and a whole new weight of worry was filling him.

"I don't like the way your voice is slurring. Maybe we should-"

"Peter, Peter, _Peterpeterpeter," _Neal mused.

"Peter Piper picked a… Peter Piper.. Peter picked a lock. No, that's not right. I pick locks, right Mozz? Remember that time, in France, when the manuscripts for the—"

The look on Mozzie's face deterred Peter's train of thought as Mozzie practically flung himself at Neal, going as far as to make a shrill and god-awful sound, drowning out Neal's rambles.

_"Statue of limitations, mon frère!" _he hissed at Neal, though the affectionate look he gave the younger man undercut any hostility.

There was, however, no affection look for Peter. The little man's eyes were shooting daggers. Peter had only just arrived, and he already felt his welcome was running thin.

"This is your doing. Why are you even here? Off to drag him back to work, clamp another anklet on him?" Mozzie's fist was clenched by his side, an ordinary gesture for most men, but a strong tell for Mozzie.

Peter was thrown off guard by the man's hostility, and it must have shown.

"What, did you expect me to _thank _you? He nearly died today because of you and the other suits. Just because he works for you doesn't mean you _own_ him. Just because—"

"Mozz, Mozzie, it's okay. It's swell. It's all SWELLLLLL-"

And now Neal was singing.

"SWELL!" Unfortunately, his singing was interrupted by a fitful coughing spell, and painful sounding coughs at that. Peter and Mozzie both winced in sympathy. Peter twitched a bit as he restrained himself; he wanted to see if Neal was okay, but Mozzie was already at Neal's side. One hand was placed on Neal's back, awkwardly, and the other was waving Peter off.

"It's okay, mon frère. Just breathe, in out, in out. You're okay. " He smiled warmly at Neal. "Remember Vegas, 2002? You made it through that. You'll make it through this—this isn't even half that bad," he chortled.

Neal nodded curtly as if remembering and agreeing, though his face was still too pale with pain for Peter's liking.

_What happened in Vegas in 2002? _Peter didn't have any records of Neal being injured… but Neal was the type of man to lick his wounds in private, to avoid the hospital at all costs.. and in his line of work, going to the hospital for medical aid wasn't always plausible. Peter made a mental note to ask Neal about Vegas when he wasn't in such a weakened state.

"Mozzie, I think Neal should come back with me and Elizabeth. We can take care of him there; we have a guest room, we-"

"There's no reason for him not to heal in his own home. You've done enough, _Suit._" He spat the word as though it were venom.

"Aw—c'mon Mozz… _noneed to be crrruel_." Neal's words tumbled from his mouth, drunkenly.

"Why is he slurring his words? Neal, buddy, you okay?"

Mozzie sighed, his stance still protective in front of his friend.

"When I insisted he take some of his medications, he accused me of mother-henning him. I offered to let him take a sip of my wine to get it down—and the sneak downed my entire glass."

He looked over at Neal as though he was still upset over it, but the lazy grin on Neal's face shattered any pretense Mozzie had of feigning anger.

"Guess too much wine and pain pills… well, resulted in this. And we both know how Neal gets when he's drugged."

Peter knew, of course, due to the incident in the Howser Clinic a few years back. But how did Mozzie know?

Better yet, how much of Neal's past did Peter still not know?


	18. Chapter 18

After lurking around the apartment for _two hours_ after Neal had finally fallen asleep, Peter finally taken his leave. _About time._ Mozzie was Neal's best friend. It was _his_ job to care for him. Mozzie had been there through the good and the bad—through Neal and Kate's break up, through the occasional injury during a con, through sprained ankles and broken bones, through that horrible Vegas incident that had nearly cost both of their lives.. And Neal had been there for him too, in more ways than he could count. Neal was always there for Mozzie, and Mozzie was always there for Neal.

Snapping back to reality, it was Neal's turn in their game of chess. At first, Mozzie had mistaken Neal's silence as concentration. He'd been about to playfully insult his friend (because after all these years, Mozzie could count on one hand the number of chess games Neal had won against him), but the competitive jab was forgotten as he allowed himself to really look at his friend.

Neal had gone pale.

"Neal?" Mozzie's eyes were fixed on Neal's pained expression.

As if on cue, the apartment door opened. Mozzie would have been annoyed with the Suit were it not for Neal's eerie silence. "Neal?" His voice was gentler this time, away from _prying ears_. He awkwardly rested his hand on Neal's arm before, again awkwardly, removing it, though still allowing it to hover.

Neal was still silent, his eyes too bright and fixed on a pawn that had been pushed aside, having been surrendered earlier in the game.

"Neal?" This time, the voice belonged to Peter. His voice was louder and seemed to s nap Neal out of his stupor. He quickly pushed back against the table and rose to his feet, unsteadily at that. He gripped on to the back of the chair as though it was the only thing keeping him vertical; with his other hand, he fisted the table cloth, unwittingly tugging on the table runner and disrupting the chess board, sending the pieces tumbling to the ground.

Failing to elicit a response from Neal, Peter took the opportunity to cross the room. Neal's white-knuckle grip on the back of the chair was not lost on Peter.

"Hey, let's go sit down, okay? Neal?"

Neal's eyes were glued to the fallen chess pieces. "I should pick those up… Bugsy.. Bugsy could choke on them…" His voice was quiet and small.

Mozzie acknowledged Peter for the first time, his eyes filled with worry. Peter's eyes reflected the sentiment right back to him.

Neal seemed to list a bit towards the his right side, towards the chess pieces, swaying on his feet.

"Whoa, Neal, hey, I've got you, okay?" Peter placed his hand on Neal's arm, slightly less awkwardly than Mozzie had yet awkward still, though he left his arm there.

"Bugsy could…choke," he muttered.

"It's all good, mon frère. I've got it." Mozzie nervously began gathering the chess pieces.

"Neal?" Peter's heart was thumping now, as he was sure Mozzie's was. "Neal, you with us?"

"I'm fine. I just… I just.." Neal blinked rapidly in succession. His voice had a tight quality to it as he forced in a pained breath. He seemed unable to get enough air to complete his thought.

"I just- I just…" He swallowed, and then again, and then sucked a breath in.

Mozzie had finished collecting the chess pieces and positioned himself on Neal's other side. He mirrored Peter's stance and placed a tentative hand against Neal's back. He dare not speak.

"Mozzie, I think you should phone the hospital."  
Mozzie's eyes darted up. "No. I promised him I wouldn't—"  
"_Haversham."_

"N-No… hospital….I'm fine…." Another rattling breath. His knees gave a bit, and were it not for Mozzie and Peter's grips on his arms, he would have fallen. Peter and Mozzie shared an intense look as they caught Neal's lithe frame.

Peter huffed, his heart still hammering against his ribcage.  
"Like hell you are. Let's go sit down. Come on, Neal."

"Not an.." he wheezed, "invalid." _I'm not an invalid. _

"I ju-ju-" He swallowed, finally looking up from the floor. His gaze flickered from Mozzie, on his right, to Peter on his left. His eyes were too bright, his face too pale, and his lips tinged with just the faintest hint of blue.

Neal felt the floor dip forward and was vaguely aware of a falling sensation before everything whited out.


End file.
